A Kind Word & A Gun
by ImaSupernaturalCSI
Summary: 1924: Don Flack, private eye, is back! The case: A murdered billionaire, a dead gangster, and the very first Macy's Parade all add up to one deadly case for our favorite PI. Flangell, SMacked, Dantana, Hawkes, Sid and more!
1. Chapter 1

"**A Kind Word and a Gun"  
><strong>**Disclaimer****: I don't own the characters of CSI:NY. They belong to Anthony E. Zuiker and CBS. I'm just borrowing them.  
><strong>**Disclaimer 2****: I don't promise to put them back in one piece.**

**Author's Note: When the plot bunny hops into the room in a pinstripe suit and fedora, it can only mean one thing. Folks, Don Flack, PI, is BACK.  
><strong>

**Chapter One:**

_All these happy, merry people can kiss my ass._

From where I sit, tis the season to be dark, cold, dusty, dirty and downright depressing. My office chair creaks as I lean back, blowing perfect smoke rings at the ceiling. I've got gooseflesh from my elbows down to my fingernails, thanks to the fact that the only thing my radiator is good for is bein' a coat rack. The cold is creepin' in through the cracks in the walls. And I know that outside, it's worse. It's November, and the skies are gray, the wind off the harbor is cold, and there's about three inches of snow on the ground. I know that if I turn on the radio right now, they'll be talkin' about two things- the weather, and some big to-do that the folks from the Macy's department stores are putting on at the end of the week.

I don't see a damned thing to be celebrating.

He'd have been 24 today. It's funny how I can't remember my own age half the time, or my phone number, or my address, but I can remember Adam Ross's birthday. _Would have been_. Instead, he's a lot colder than any of the rest of us.

And I'm the one who made him that way.

One o' the guys at the 6th Precinct said "What say ya, Flack" to me the other day, and I turned around, half-hopin' it would be him… and when I found out it wasn't I told the kid more than what he wanted to hear, in language that would've made my Stella's ears bleed. It wouldn't have surprised me in the slightest if Mac Taylor would've locked me up for what I said, but in my mind, those four words are his and his alone, and nobody has the right to ask me that anymore.

Speaking of my secretary….I hear the outside door open, hear her heels clicking on the floor. "You're late!" I yell through my office door. I watch her stop, can almost see her roll her eyes through the frosted glass. I hear her heels, watch her silhouette stop in front of the door. My name's on the door, but there's a few letters missing. One hand goes on the door knob and she slides the door open and leans against the doorframe. Even in a pair of pants and a peacoat, she's still sexy as hell. I know what sort of curves are hidin' underneath all those layers. "Three inches of snow on the ground, suddenly everybody in this city forgets how to commute," she grumbles. "Guess if I slept in the office like someone I know, I wouldn't be late, huh?" She gives me the once-over, and gives me a disapproving snort. "You look like hell."

"Thanks," I reply dryly. She runs her fingers through her curly brown hair and I grin. "You're getting the floor wet."

"It's half rotted anyway."

I know, it's one of the things on my list to fix if I ever get the money. Along with the holes in the walls, the radiator, repainting my name on the door...You'd think the man who put Sonny Sassone away for life would get some kind of reward, but no. I'm still me-Don Flack Jr, private eye. Swimming in cigarette smoke and debt.

"Your boyfriend'd kill me if you fell through the floorboards," I tease. And the world would be out one seriously fine specimen of woman. She may be a little on the older side but she's as beautiful as Marion Davies and twice as fun. And she's the only woman in this city who'll put up with me.

Stella Bonasera raises one perfectly-arched eyebrow and politely tells me I'm more than welcome to fall through the floorboards anytime…and keep going. "Come on now, Stel," I chuckle, "You kiss the Chief of Police with that mouth?"

I still haven't figured out what happened there. Two years ago, it was startin' to look like Stella and me might have a little somethin' going on. Now she's seein' the Chief of Police, and I'm chasin' skirt on Friday nights. Dames are sure complicated.

She smiles sweetly. "You're an ass, Flack," she says. "But speaking of the chief," she says, coming into the office and shivering instantly, "you're supposed to meet him at this address." She hands me a slip of paper. The address is on the Upper East Side, in an area I vaguely recognize as being the sort of neighborhood where one needs a suit and tie and half a mil in the bank just to get past the doorman.

I put it on my desk and take a drag on my cigarette. "It's too early for Mac Taylor to be ordering me around," I say.

"One doesn't keep Andrew Bedford III waiting," Stella replies, rubbing her arms with her hands. "Jesus it's cold in here." She looks at me. "And you've got your sleeves rolled up. Haven't you noticed the weather?"

"Andrew Bedford the Third, huh?" I repeat, ignoring the comment about the cold and sitting up and putting my cigarette in the ashtray. "Let's see…married to a knockout from New Hampshire, or Vermont, or one of those rich people states, makes his money telling fashionable high society how to dress, has a spoiled brat for a son-which, by the way, if my name was Andrew Bedford the Fourth, I'd probably act out too-"

"Anything else?" Stella asks with half a smile.

I lean back again. "Nope. That about covers it."

"Yeah well, I know something you don't know."

I grin. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

Stella leans over my desk and pushes the address back at me with one manicured fingernail. "He's dead. And his pretty little wife swears it was murder."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note II: Like it, love it, hate it, please review. Also, if you're just joining us, check out "A Good Man is Hard to Find." Constructive criticism is usually warranted and always appreciated. <strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors Note: I had to repost this. Apparently it magically disappeared. So thanks lilymoonlight for catching it! To the folks that reviewed the first chapter, it was my intent to write you back, until the story disappeared and I lost the reviews. If you review this one, I'll happily write back...  
><strong>

**Chapter Two**

Sure enough, the doorman gives me a second look as I brush by him and into the massive lobby of the building that billionaire Andrew Bedford III calls home. The furniture is worth more than my life and the chandelier costs more than what I've made in ten years of doing my job. The open expanse is covered in white carpet and white furniture. I compliment it well in my brown slacks, brown trenchcoat and muddy shoes. I make my way to the elevator. The doorman is still staring at me. I thumb the button for the top floor and grin. "Hey, I'm sorry. Think I mighta smudged your buttons." The elevator dings and the doors pop open. "I'll try not to leave too many footprints!" I call as the doors close.

I have a whole twenty floors to stare at myself in the polished walls and listen to music that is definitely made for rich people's ears. The elevator tone sounds and the doors slide open, and I find myself in a penthouse apartment that reminds me a little of Lindsay Monroe's place on 5th Avenue. I haven't heard from her or the grimy gangster she calls her fiancé, Danny Messer, since they moved out of the city in '22. Back then, Danny was moving her out to the middle of nowhere. I can't imagine what either one of them are doing out there. She doesn't seem the type to be the little woman, and I can't for the life of me picture an ex-con driving a tractor.

The door into the apartment is standing open, but I can see a bunch of uniformed officers running around inside. I step just inside the penthouse and glance around. It smells funny in here. The place looks like a museum-there's something covering every surface. Most of it sparkles or glitters. Clearly, Andrew Bedford was not killed in a robbery attempt.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

I glance over my shoulder. Newly-appointed Chief of Police Mac Taylor comes into the sitting area from the kitchen. Since he started seein' Stella, he's loosened up a little bit, but today he's _all_ cop. The uniform is so starched I'm surprised he doesn't break when he walks. His eyes are glinting the way they do when he's on a tough case, so this one must be a real doozie. "Heard a rich guy died," I reply easily. "Thought I'd come see if he left me anything."

"How did you-" He starts to ask me how I even knew Bedford was dead, but I see the answer dawn on his face. "Stella told you?" His voice seems to soften a bit when he mentions her name.

I don't wanna get her in trouble, not with the Chief of Police. "Rich guys dies in New York City, Mac, people talk."

"Yeah well, talk about it somewhere other than my crime scene," Mac tells me.

"Someone's a little testy this morning," I shoot back. "Get up on the wrong side of the bed this morn-…." I trail off. And start laughing. "Ah _ha_!" _Now_ I know why Stella was late for work this morning…

"Get your ass out of here before I throw you down the elevator shaft," Mac threatens with a growl.

"Gentlemen," a soft voice speaks up from behind us. I turn around to see a beautiful blonde woman in a royal blue skirt and yellow blouse coming toward us. She looks like one of those silver screen stars-all the right curves in all the right places, full lips, big eyes. This has to be the missus. I can see why Bedford puts her in all their print ads. She looks like she's trying to maintain a front, but from the red-rimmed eyes it's not going so well. And now I feel like a real rat for joshin' with Mac when he's supposed to be finding her husband's killer.

If he's been killed. It occurs to me that I don't even know the whole story yet. Haven't given him a chance to enlighten me yet.

"Mrs. Bedford," Mac says with an apologetic look, "this is Donald Flack, a private investigator."

"Ma'am," I say, taking off my hat. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, Mr. Flack," Colleen Bedford replies. She looks confused. "Chief Taylor, what is a private detective doing here?"

Before Mac can say anything, I say, "The police force is a little overtaxed around the holidays ma'am," I lie smoothly. "I'm just here to see if I can offer my assistance." I can see him glaring at me, but I ignore him.

"Flack, perhaps we should go have a look at the scene," Mac says to me pointedly.

"Sure, Chief," I say. "Whatever you say."

"Mr. Flack," Colleen says, catching my arm. I turn around. "Ma'am?"

"I'm glad you're here to help find my husband's killer."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mac tense. I look at Mrs. Bedford. "Mrs. Bedford, what makes you think your husband was murdered?" I ask carefully.

But she doesn't answer me. Instead, she bursts into tears and disappears into the kitchen.

I glance at Mac. "What the hell was that about?"

Mac shakes his head. "Your guess is as good as mine. First thing when I get here, she's got hold of my jacket begging and pleading me to catch the man that did this to him."

"Did what?" I demand. And then I realize. The smell from earlier. I know that smell. I don't encounter it very often, but I know what it is. "Let me see," I tell Mac.

He leads me through the living room and back out the door. For a second I think he's going to escort me right back downstairs until he opens another door and the smell hits me full force. I can see why Mac and his boys have kept the door closed as I get my first glimpse of what's left of Andrew Bedford III.

The fire looks pretty localized, mainly keeping to the area around the desk. Andrew Bedford's body is slumped back in his desk chair. The head is resting on his chest, and the arms are limp at his sides. "Who put out the fire?" I ask Mac, covering my mouth with my sleeve. Mac smirks. "The Bedford's doorman Titus-you probably saw him downstairs-was coming up last night to let Mrs. Bedford back into the apartment."

"Couldn't hide the key in the dress she was wearin'?" I ask.

"She'd gone down for a meeting with some friends, realized she didn't have her key when she got back. When they got upstairs the office was smoking." He shakes his head. "Tell the truth I'm surprised she's as collected as she is."

"Maybe she panicked thinking she was gonna burn the building down," I suggest.

"You missed the part where she asked you to find her husband's killer, huh?"

"Nice misdirection," I reply with a wry smile. "Meanwhile…how'd the fire start anyway?"

Mac points to the desk. "Cigarette," he says, gesturing to the desk. "I think he fell asleep smoking while working late, caught the papers on the desk on fire. Before it could spread out of hand, the wife and the doorman got here and put it out, but by then he was gone."

I come around. I'm getting used to the smell by now and take my arm away from my nose. "Good theory," I offer. I study the desk, and the body. "That's a good thought, real crack police work, Mac."

He crosses his arms over his uniform and glares at me. "I sense a 'but' coming on," he says.

"Well, now that you mention it…" I nod to the desk. "You know I've been known to have a cigarette to wind down at the end of the day-"

"Bet that don't take the whole cigarette," Mac mutters, and I laugh.

"I like to keep my ash tray within arms' reach though," I continue, taking a pencil from my pocket and tapping the ash tray, which is sitting at the edge of the desk. "His seems a little out of the way, doesn't it?"

"You're as bad as she is," Mac throws his hands in the air. "There's nothin' in this office that suggests this was anythin' other than an accident!" He gestures to the desk. "Just 'cause his ash tray is halfway across the desk, you jump to murder?"

I shrug. "Just seems awful strange for him to be half asleep over here after a hard days' work, have a cigarette in his hands, but have the ash tray halfway across the desk." I grin as I put my hat back on. "You figure out how smoking killed him, Mac, you let me know."

"Where the hell are you going?"

"To go talk to the wife," I say. "Can't hurt to hear her story." I walk out of the office, sure that the stench is going to be stuck on my clothes until the day I die. I go back into the penthouse and make my way into the kitchen, which is the last place I saw Colleen Bedford headed, and sure enough, she's sitting in the kitchen with a young man who is a dead ringer-pardon the expression-for Andrew Bedford. "Mrs. Bedford?" I begin, but the kid standing next to her raises a hand.

"My mother has answered enough questions for today," he informs me.

_Look who thinks they're king of New York_. "You must be Andrew Bedford IV," I guess.

"I am," he says. The kid is a good-looking buck and he knows it. He's wearing a suit that probably cost more than my car. He's got brown eyes and brown hair, and stands just a hair taller than me. There's something in his eyes…I get the feelin' he doesn't like me very much. "And….you are?" he asks, looking down his nose at me.

"Don Flack," I say, offering him a hand. "Private investigator."

He stares at my hand for a moment, then shakes it. He doesn't let go right away, and neither do I. When he finally gives, I notice he's flexing his fingers. _Score one for me_.

"And why exactly are you here?" he asks, not sounding like he really wants to know the answer.

"The Chief of Police asked me to give the crime scene a second set of eyes," I reply. _Let Mac deal with the spoiled brat_. "If you object to my presence, you can take it up with him."

"I believe I might," Bedford Junior tells me. "And I repeat, Mr. Flack, my mother has answered all the questions she needs to today. If you would like to question her further, you may do so at a later date."

I nod. "I believe I just might do that." I nod to Colleen Bedford. "Mrs. Bedford, I'm sorry for your loss." I look at Junior. "Mr. Bedford Junior, it was a pleasure meeting you." Meaning it was anything but. I tip my hat and leave the kitchen and punch the button for the elevator.

As I ride it back down to the main floor, I look at myself in the doors. The face staring back at me looks like he thinks that Bedford Junior is a spoiled brat….but a spoiled brat with something to hide.

And I agree with him.

* * *

><p>When I get back to the office later that afternoon, Stella is sitting in her chair, on the telephone. She waves frantically at me as she takes notes. I stop, taking in the panic etched on her face. "We'll be there as soon as we can." She hangs up the phone and looks at me. "Flack, that was Danny Messer."<p>

"What's wrong?" I ask instantly. "They're supposed to be on a cow farm in Montana or somethin' right now, ain't they?"

"Lindsay's grandfather was almost killed in a mugging last night," she tells me.

"Lindsay's grandfather…Sterling Monroe?" I ask. "The newspaper man?"

"The one and the same," Stella replies. She runs a hand through her hair. "Lindsay and Danny are in Chicago, they'll be here tomorrow morning. She asked if we would-"

"Get your coat," I interrupt. "Did they say what hospital?"

* * *

><p>Danny Messer and Lindsay Monroe are about the closest thing I have to friends in this world apart from Stella. So if they need my help, they're guaranteed to get it. Stella and I arrive at Queen of Mercy about a half hour later. I go up to the nurse at the desk and ask which room Sterling Monroe is in. She glances at me over her glasses. "Are you a relative?" she asks me. Her tone is nasally, and I don't like her a bit. Stella is outside at the moment, collecting herself before she comes in.<p>

"He's a relative of a friend," I tell her, and she shakes her head.

"I'm sorry but only family is allowed to visit."

"His nearest family is in Chicago, they're on their way here," I explain. "We're the closest thing he's got right now."

She gives me a condescending _tsk_. "Sir, I'm sorry, we can't-"

"Excuse me, nurse," Stella comes up smoothly behind me. "I'm here to inquire about Sterling Monroe? He's my uncle."

The nurse gives Stel a doubtful look. Stella flashes her beautiful smile. "I was told he's at Queen of Mercy, but my sister didn't tell me what room."

"It's all right, Nurse," a new voice says, one that I recognize. It sounds tired, and sad, but it still has a commanding edge to it. "These fine people are family."

I turn around. "District Attorney Hammerback," I say with a smile. "It's good to see you again."

"And you as well, Mr. Flack," Sidney Hammerback replies. He looks pointedly at the nurse. "We'll find our own way upstairs, thank you."

We leave her speechless as we head for the elevator. "You have an uncanny knack at showing up at the right time," I tell Hammerback as we ride upstairs.

The district attorney offers me a smile. "And you have a knack for sticking your nose in all sorts of trouble, Mr. Flack."

I cringe. "Please, Mr. Hammerback. You're a friend. Call me Don."

"Mr. Flack was his father," Stella adds with a wink.

"The lovely Miss Bonasera. I believe the last time I saw you was the Sonny Sassone sentencing."

"Hiding in the back." Stella nods politely. "That was a magnificent performance that day, sir," she praises him.

"Agreed. A hell of a job," I tell him, and the DA claps my shoulder.

"All in a day's work," he replies. "And if I have done it to the fullest extent of my ability, you won't have to worry about him again."

"I'm not worried," I tell him honestly. Then I look at him, confused. "If you don't mind my asking sir…what are you doing here?"

The door opens onto the 6th floor and Hammerback gestures for Stella to come out first. "He's in room 611," he tells her. Stella nods and makes her way down the hall, understanding that Hammerback has something to say that may not be pleasant. If she needs to know it's understood that I'll tell her later. We step off the elevator and the attorney looks at me with a haggard gaze. "I was with Sterling last evening when he was attacked," he explains.

It's then that I notice he's holding a jacket in his arms, and I can see blood on it. "It's not mine, Don," he says, when he catches me looking. "I'm afraid I didn't do a very good job of patching Sterling's shoulder."

"He was shot?" I ask, and his nod confirms it. "What happened? Where?"

Hammerback pinches the bridge of his nose. "We were coming out of Bertolli's-you may remember that restaurant?"

"I do. Doorman tried to kill me."

After a momentary pause and a questioning glance, Hammerback continues. "We were walking home when a young man pulled a gun and demanded Sterling's and my money and personal effects."

"I take it Mr. Monroe didn't take kindly to the suggestion," I comment.

This elicits a small chuckle from the attorney. "He did not," he confirms. "He put up a struggle and the young man was surprised. I believe he fired on accident; however, the shot struck Sterling in the shoulder. We'd drawn enough commotion that the young man ran and we were assisted right away, but…" He sighs. "He's unconscious right now. I understand his daughter is on her way here?"

"They'll be here tomorrow," I reply. "In the meantime, you should get home to your wife. Stella and I will stay here, and we'll let you know if something changes."

"I really ought to-" he tries to protest, but I won't let him. I walk over to the chair outside Mr. Monroe's room and stretch out. "This isn't as comfortable as my office chair, but it'll do." I close my eyes. Half a minute later I open them, and Hammerback is still staring at me. "You're still here?" I ask. "Go on, go home, or your wife'll think you have a girlfriend."

I get a genuine smile from him, and after I assure him yet again that we'll let him know if he's needed here, he eventually leaves. I lean back and close my eyes for real.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of "CSI:NY"-they belong to Anthony E. Zuiker and CBS.**

**Author's Note: Thanks to the folks that are R&R'ing. Here's Chapter 3. Oh, and for clarification, Sterling Monroe is Lindsay's grandpa. Typos happen when you're excited for a story. :)**

**Chapter 3**

"Well lookit here, Stella. Alert and sharp as usual, huh?"

The voice has a grating Bronx accent and a teasing tone and I know exactly who it is without opening my eyes. _Just as I'm about to get in the backseat with Marion Davies…_"Nice to see you again too, Messer."

I open one eye and smile as Danny Messer's blue eyes come into view. I'm not sure what I expected him to look like after two years in Montana, but…he looks exactly the same. Brown slacks, newsboy cap and suspenders. "Sure don't look like a farmer, there, buddy."

He grins. "Well you don't look much like a PI either, so it's nice to know nothing changes."

"I don't hear from you in two years and this is what I get?" I tease him. "Thanks."

"If you two boys are done," Stella cuts in, who's been watching this whole exchange with an amused smile on her face. "Flack, you want some coffee?"

"Yeah, sounds good," I say. "You goin' all the way back to the office for a cup of yours?"

She smirks. "You're stuck with basic hospital grade stuff today, Flack. I'll be right back."

There's a pause, and I look up at Danny, who is staring through the window above my head into the hospital room. "Hey. You okay?"

He blinks and looks down at me. "What? Oh, yeah man, I'm good, real good."

"Liar."

He sighs and sinks down next to me. Danny leans back and closes his eyes. "You know man, I was terrified to meet her family but…you know I figured it would happen over a swanky dinner somewhere." He jerks a thumb backward. "Not in a hospital. Not after he was mugged by one of 'my people.'"

I frown. "Wait a sec. 'One of your people'?" I clarify, and Danny nods. "You're kiddin'."

"Nah man, her granddaddy thinks I'm still a hood." He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. "I ain't been back in that room since."

"Lindsay in there?" I ask.

"Yeah. Has been since we got here."

"I'm sorry, man." I mean it too, I know how hard Danny's worked to shake off his old life. He's about as much of a hood these days as I am king of England.

The elevator doors open, and Stella walks off the elevator, arm in arm with our chief of police. She's laughing and he's chuckling, something I never thought I'd ever see. I knew that they were together, but I'd never seen them together until this moment.

I nod. They're good together. "Morning, Flack," Mac greets me, and I nod a greeting back. He smiles over at Danny. "Nice to see you again Mr. Messer," he says. "Wish it was under better circumstances."

"Good to see you again too, Mac," Danny replies, shaking his hand. "Lindsay's in with her grandfather, if you'd like to say hello."

"I'm actually here on official business," he says apologetically. "I need to speak to Mr. Monroe in an…official capacity."

"Course," Danny says. He trails off and suddenly finds the tile floor very interesting. Stella follows Mac into the room, leaving Danny and I alone again.

"Oh come on man," I say, clapping him on the back. "You can't avoid this forever. I got your back."

"That's good," Danny says nervously, as he stands. "'Cause I'm pretty sure he'll stab me in the back first chance he gets with his good arm."

I can't help but laugh as we go into the room.

* * *

><p>Lindsay's eyes sparkle when she sees me. "Flack!" she says happily. "It's so good to see you again."<p>

"You as well. The country air's been good to you," I tell her. She blushes at the compliment. The girl who walked into my office two years ago in a designer dress and shoes is gone. This Lindsay is much more of a plain Jane, wearing a simple red skirt and white top. Her hair longer now, hanging loose around her shoulders. She looks like the farmer's daughter for sure.

"And you are?" The question comes from Sterling Monroe. It's clear that Lindsay gets her looks from her mother's side of the family. Sterling Monroe is all angles, sharp face, pointed nose. His eyes are blue, unlike Lindsay's brown. His hair must have been blonde at some point, but it's more gray than anything. And the look I'm currently getting from him, if I was a weaker man, would have me wearing cement shoes in the East River.

"Mr. Monroe, this is Don Flack, a private investigator. His father was with me on the NYPD," Mac explains.

"And what is he doing here?" he asks.

I bristle, and Stella puts a hand on my arm. I take a breath. "Danny and Lindsay are friends, sir," I say. I haven't had to use the 'sir' in a long time. It hurts. "I'm just here for support."

"Mr. Monroe," Mac cuts in, trying to diffuse the tension in the room. "Did you get a good look at the man who attacked you last night?"

His eyes drift over to Danny before he answers. "He was a young man, maybe in his thirties. He was dirty."

"Dirty?" Mac repeats with a sidelong glance at Danny as well. "How so?"

"His clothing clearly gave the impression he was of lower means," Monroe tells us.

"Really?" Danny mutters. "Just 'cause us simple folk can't afford million dollar ties, or what?"

"Danny," Lindsay hisses. Her grandfather turns red.

"Why don't you just say it, _sir_," Danny grounds out, shaking his hand out of Lindsay's grip. "He looked like a hood, right? Those of us who don't wear suits and ties and don't have an East Side accent are all hoods?"

"Danny, _stop_," Lindsay says, but Danny's on a roll. "No. I wanna hear him say it. Just say it, Mr. Monroe. Tell me that there's no way in hell that a two-bit gangster is gonna marry his precious, Fifth Ave granddaughter!"

"Flack, say something," Stella says in shock, but I'm with Danny on this one, so I wisely keep my mouth shut.

"I need air," Danny announces, before leaving the room in a huff, almost running over a curious nurse on the way out.

"Lindsay, you must be joking," Monroe looks at his granddaughter. "Surely you can't be serious."

"I'm very serious, Grandfather," she tells him. "I was hoping that the two of you could put your differences aside long enough to make it through the wedding, but I see that was merely wishful thinking." Her eyes flash. "Your behavior is unacceptable, especially in front of my friends and the chief of police, no less." She looks at Mac. "Congratulations on the promotion, by the way, Mr. Taylor." She returns her eyes to her grandfather. "Don't get your blood too much in a boil, Grandfather, though we are in a hospital, so it may be the safest place, but I am going to marry Danny, with or without your blessing!" She brushes by Mac on her way out, and I hear her shoes head straight for the elevator.

Stella looks at the three men left in the room. "I'll let you boys have at it," she says, before following Lindsay downstairs.

"Mr. Monroe," Mac says evenly, "I'll need a better description than that if you want me to find the man that did this to you."

It takes Mr. Monroe a moment to collect himself. If it'd been me I wouldn't have been near as patient as Mac has been. I heard Al Capone say once that you get a better response from someone with a kind word and a gun than you do with just a kind word. And I'm all out of kind words right now.

Apparently, Mac is too, because as soon as he gets his description (white male, thirties, dark clothes, scar on his cheek), he tells Mr. Monroe that he'll be in touch, and leaves the room. But I can't resist. "Don't you worry, Mr. Monroe, we'll keep an eye out for any and all hoods. Shouldn't take us more than a few years to track all the hoods in the city down." I tip my hat and go outside, where Mac is waiting for me. "You had to, huh," he says, as I walk past him.

I stop but don't turn around. "I'm not in a uniform, I don't answer to the mayor, and he insulted my friends. So yeah, Mac, I had to."

He raises an eyebrow. "And how did it feel?"

I glance over my shoulder. "Pretty damned good."

Mac is shaking his head, but I see him smiling. "I'm going to go put a BOLO out for our boy."

"You do that." We ride the elevator in silence. I'm sure he's thinking about Mr. Monroe, but I'm thinking about Andrew Bedford. With all the commotion of today I've completely forgotten about Bedford. I'm going to need to go back to the office and think on that one.

* * *

><p>We get off the elevator together, and I see Stella, Danny and Lindsay, who all look considerably calmer, standing outside the doors. Stella says something that makes Danny blush and Lindsay burst out laughing. Mac buttons his coat and steps outside to talk with Stella. Apparently, Lindsay has just figured out they're a couple because I see her face light up and she gives Stella a huge hug. Then, to everyone's surprise, she hugs Mac as well. I've never seen his face that red.<p>

I come outside. "Flack, would you mind it if I borrowed your secretary for the afternoon?" Mac asks me.

I grin. "Long as you bring her back in one piece, Chief."

He looks at Stella. "Shall we?" he asks, offering his arm. She slides her arm through his. They walk down the street together.

"They're so adorable," Lindsay gushes.

"Funny, Flack, I figured she had it bad for you, not him," Danny tells me.

"Nah, I'm too mean. Plus I'm her boss. Hard to have her takin' messages and makin' coffee if she's wrapped around me," I shrug it off. "Say Danny, Lindsay's granddaddy gave us a description of the guy who shot him last night."

"Yeah?" Danny asked. "Is it something better than, 'dirty rotten gangster'?"

Lindsay slugs him in the arm, but he's smiling. "Is it something that'll be able to help you catch the man that did this?" she asks me, all seriousness. I can tell that she doesn't approve of what he said to her fiancé, but I can also tell that she loves her grandfather.

"He's apparently got a scar on one cheek," I explain, and Danny raises an eyebrow.

"Does he, now."

"He does." I look at the two of them. "Look, we started this whole visit of yours off on the wrong foot. How about you two come by the office later tonight for dinner?" I wink. "We can order some Chinese food and talk about Danny's impending entry into the last legal form of slavery."

"Thanks a _lot_ Flack!" Lindsay exclaims, but Danny's laughing his head off, and I can't help but laugh at the look on her face. "How about 8?" she suggests, a smile playing on her lips.

"Sounds good," I agree. "Where are the two of you off to?"

"Well, Linds has to go pick up some things down at Macy's-somethin' she ordered out in Montana but decided to wait til we were in town to get." Danny looks at her. "You don't need my help for that, do you?" he asks, almost pleading.

"Did you have other plans?" she asks him, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Well….I thought maybe me and Flack'd go see Joe."

"Joe?" I ask.

"Who's Joe?" Lindsay repeats.

"Joe is ah….he's an old friend," Danny says vaguely. "I think he might know where to find the guy that shot your grandpa."

"Danny…" Lindsay says warningly. "Don't you go gettin' mixed up in all that again. Let Mac and the police handle this."

"Baby, anybody who knows anybody who'd do somethin' like this is gonna make Mac and his boys for cops the instant they see 'em. Nobody is gonna say anything to them."

"But-"

He puts a finger on her lips. "I'm not gonna fight with you, honey," he says. "Let me try to do something right."

Lindsay sighs. I watch with interest. "Fine. But you be careful." She looks over at me. "Don't you let him do somethin' stupid!"

"Never," I tell her with a wink. She groans.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: I just wanted to say THANK YOU to everybody that's reading, reviewing and putting this on alert. I am really glad that you're liking this.  
><strong>

**Chapter Four**

It's just starting to get dark as Danny and I pull up outside a bar in Brooklyn called Smoky Joe's. "Is Smoky Joe the guy we're here to see?" I ask him as I get out of the car. It's gotten colder out, and it's starting to snow again. I bet the Macy's folks are furious. It's gonna snow all over their parade. I blow into my hands to try to warm them up. Danny pulls his jacket tighter around him. "Actually no," Danny says. "See, Smoky Joe is this old black guy, used to work as a chimney sweep in Harlem. He got tired of cleanin' fireplaces and decided to try somethin' different. The guy we're here to see is just Joe." He frowns. "Hell I'm not even sure if that's his real name. I just know him as Joe."

"And how do you know Joe?" I have to ask.

He grins. "How do you think?" he asks me.

"I don't wanna know."

"You're right, you don't." Danny pushes the door open. Wailing jazz music pours outside, along with a thick cloud of blue smoke. "It's a real high-class place," Danny yells over the music.

"Sure it is." I look around. "So which one's Joe?"

Danny squints to look through the veil of smoke hanging over everything. Then he points. "Back there!" He threads his way through the crowd, and I follow behind him. The place is so packed that most folks don't even give us a second glance. Danny stops in front of a poker game, where a balding man in factory worker garb is sitting. "Well I'm all in, boys," he says, shoving the handful of cash and chips he has to the middle of the table. I see three guys fold instantly, and the fourth follows Joe in. I glance at Danny, who just nods knowingly. We can see what Joe's got in his hand, and he's taking the guy across the table from him for everything he's worth on a royal flush.

"Looks like you're still cheatin', huh Joe?" Danny yells over the music, and Joe looks up from his game.

"Daniel Messer!" He stands up, gives Danny a hug. "Holy hell, boy, I ain't heard from you in a coon's age!"

Danny smiles. "Joe, this is Don Flack," he introduces us. "There ain't a man in New York that Joe doesn't know-or owe."

"And you wonder why I cheat at poker?" he mutters to us, giving Danny a shove with an open hand. "What the hell do you think you're doin', bringin' a private dick in here?" he queries over the screaming saxophone in the background.

"'Cause I need to know if you know a guy!" I yell back at him.

"I know lotsa guys," Joe counters.

"This one looks a lot like Danny," I tell him, and Danny casually makes a rude gesture in my direction. "Brown hair. He's got a scar on his cheek."

Joe thinks for a moment. "Might be Dean Truby," he offers. "Dean's got a decent scar on his right cheek from an altercation with a beer bottle here at Smoky Joe's."

"Lemme guess…you lost a hand to him?"

Joe just chuckles. "Know where we can find Truby?" Danny asks him.

"He used to live up by the old Pepsi-Cola bottling plant," Joe replies. "Ain't seen him in a while-not since he cut himself on my beer bottle."

"Thanks, man," Danny says, handing Joe a twenty-dollar bill. Joe pockets it smoothly. We turn to go, but then I have another thought. "Hey Joe, you heard of anything big goin' down in the city?"

Joe shuffles the deck of cards as he replies, "You'll have to be a bit more specific, Flack." The table chuckles.

"Anything," I tell him. "Maybe something involving a big payout. Anybody been in here braggin' about a new job?"

Joe starts dealing. "You know, now I think about it, there were a few boys in here a couple nights ago talkin' about some big job they was hired for. Dunno what it was, but it sounded like the payout was gonna be a lotta clams."

"No idea at all who put the word out?"

Joe picks up his hand. He's got crap for cards, but somehow I just know he'll end up with the whole pot again. "No idea. Sorry fella." He turns to the table. "All right boys, let's begin."

It's clear he's finished talking to us. Danny and I head back outside. "Ain't that just typical of a gangster," Danny says. "Somethin' big is goin' down, but as usual, nobody knows a damn thing."

"Curse your mobster code of ethics."

"Yeah speaking of cursing…I oughta get back to my fiancé, or there'll be a lot of that tonight."

"Hell hath no fury," I say. "All right, get in the car."

* * *

><p>"Hey Flack, what were you askin' him all them questions for?" Danny asks me as we drive back across the bridge.<p>

I fill him in on the Bedford case. "I got a few feelers left in the city," Danny says after a moment. "If you want I can put 'em out."

"Thanks man, but all I got to go on right now is a cigarette, an ash tray, and a knockout of a widow who swears it was murder."

"And a spoiled dandy in a million dollar tie," he adds, and I laugh. "Yeah, that too."

I drop Danny off at the hotel he and Lindsay are staying at and warn him to look respectable, or the hotel staff'll think he's tryin' to rob the place. Then I head back to the office. I'll start the search for Dean Truby in the morning.

* * *

><p>"<em>Take care of yourself, kid. These are some mean streets these days."<em>

"_Always do."_

_The scene always changes from that one happy moment, with him smiling that smart ass grin of his, to him lyin' lifeless on a dirty dock on the river, shivering even though it's eighty degrees on the water, all the color draining from his face._

_Except this time….he's lookin' right at me. "You did this to me, Flack. Why'd ya have to go and do this to me?"_

_It's not the first night that he's given me that pitiful look, that sad smile. _"_I-I didn't, kid, I never wanted-"_

_He bolts upright, and there's fury in those normally smiling eyes. "It's _your_ fault, Flack. I'm dead, and it's all 'cause of you! I shoulda picked a better hero!" One pale hand reaches for my throat-_

I bolt upright in my office chair at the sound of a ringing phone. Stella's not in yet, and the clock on the wall says six AM. Way too damned early. I can still feel Adam Ross's hand around my throat as I almost knock my ash tray off the desk reaching for my phone. "Yeah, Flack," I answer the phone, taking slow breaths to try to calm down.

"Flack, it's Mac Taylor. I need you to meet me up at the Central Park Zoo."

"it's too damned early to be lookin' at lions and tigers and bears with you," I grouse, fumbling for a cigarette.

"Ten minutes Flack. Get your ass up here. There' s somethin' you need to see."

He hangs up and I slam the phone down. I find a match and light my cigarette, taking a few puffs, but the smoke doesn't erase Adam Ross's accusing eyes from my mind. It's that last line that always gets me. "I shoulda picked a better hero." It always gets me...'cause it's true.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of "CSI:NY"-they belong to Anthony E. Zuiker and CBS.**

**Disclaimer 2: I am not a medical doctor. I get my medical knowledge from watching CSI:NY. Just so we're square.**

**Author's Note: Welcome aboard afrozenheart412 :) Glad you could join the party!  
><strong>

**Chapter Five**

The sun is shinin' this morning, but it isn't making the nightmare go away. It's cold out, but the place where Adam Ross tried to choke me is even colder. I can feel his fingers around my neck even now. It's the damndest feeling. I can't shake it off as I trudge through the snow through the front gate. I love Central Park. I don't love much of anything, but I love Central Park. Guy could get lost in Central Park and never see another high rise or another human being. 800 acres of solitude. I come walkin' here sometimes if I'm looking to unwind after a case. At least, only if said unwinding doesn't involve a beer down at Sullivan's pub. I like to keep my options open.

"Can I help you with something?" a voice snaps, bringing me back to life and reality. Standing in front of me is….well, hell. A knockout. Prettier than Stella, and that's sayin' somethin'. She's almost as tall as I am, big brown eyes, black curly hair. She's wearin' a man's blue shirt, suspenders and brown pants tucked into brown work boots and a brown coat. And she looks _pissed_. Which only makes her more beautiful. I love a challenge.

"Lookin' for Mac Taylor, doll," I explain. "Chief of Police?"

"Yeah he's here," she says shortly. "Down at the tiger pen. I'll take ya down there." The accent is definitely Jersey. My father would have a fit. Her tone of voice makes it sound like a real inconvenience. "I can find my own way, if you got somethin' better to do," I offer.

She stops short, so short that I almost fall over the top of her. "Do I got somethin' better to do than lead you around by the hand? Yeah, plenty. But I like my job and so I do what Doc tells me." She looks back over her shoulder, and her hair goes flying. It smells amazing, I don't know exactly what the smell is but I could like it in a real hurry.

"So what's a Jersey girl doin' on this side of the river?" I ask her.

"Oooh, very clever," she rolls her eyes. "Managed to figure out I'm from New Jersey by the accent, huh? Real crack detective work."

"I get the feelin' you don't like me much Miss…" I trail off. "I never did get your name."

She doesn't miss a beat. "Sure didn't. We're here." She hops over the fence. I'm so busy watchin' her that I don't see Mac Taylor watchin' me….until I do catch him lookin' and it looks like he's tryin' not to laugh. "Good morning to you too," I grouse.

He chuckles. "That's the Don Flack that I know." He gives me a once over. "You look like hell, Flack. Everythin' okay?"

"Peachy. Why the hell am I here?"

"Thought maybe you'd find this interesting."

"I don't find anything interesting until I've had at least eight cups of Stel's coffee," I counter.

"It sure is good, isn't it?" Mac smiles thoughtfully, then gets all serious again. "Just come over here and have a look."

I crawl into the pen and join him. I sneeze. Again. And again. The dark haired siren is laughing at me. I look at Mac. "Something wrong, Flack?" he asks, amused.

"Shut up. I'm allergic to cats."

"Thank God Lindsay didn't move _you_ to Montana."

"Mac I'm standing in the back yard of two cats. Large cats, judging by how much they're makin' me sneeze. How's about you quit laughing and tell me what I'm doin' here before the big kitty makes us lunch?"

"You won't have to worry about the big kitties," someone speaks up from behind me. "Big kitty had a big breakfast, and now big kitty is takin' a big nap." Mac glances over my shoulder, and I turn around. The guy looks familiar. He's a black guy, intelligent brown eyes, cheeky grin. He's wearing slacks and a white coat. When he sees my face he smiles. "Nice to see you again, Mr. Flack."

I frown. "It's Flack, and I know you. Where've I seen you before?"

He grins. "Try this." He rolls up the sleeves on his coat and stretches his fingers out. He starts moving them like he's playing a piano, and hums a tune under his breath. Then he looks up at me. "Keep playin'," he says, in almost a perfect imitation of me.

"You're the piano player from the Blackjack!" I say, snappin' my fingers. "Uh…Hawkes, right?"

"It's 'Doctor' now instead of 'Uh'," he replies, "but yeah."

"No more ticklin' the ivories anymore, huh?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "That was just the way to pay my way through veterinary school. And the job bussin' tables at the Italian place. I'm sorry about Dobson man, the guy was an ass any way you looked at it."

"Well, now he's dead anyway you look at it," I shrug. "But I sure appreciated the heads up on him." I sneeze. "Okay back to business. Why am I standing in a tiger cage at eight in the morning?"

Hawkes motions to the prone cat on the floor of the enclosure. "This is Khan," he says. "We came out to feed Khan this mornin', but…he'd already eaten." Hawkes points across the way.

There's somethin' lyin' in the snow near a pile of rocks. "Is that a….hand?" I ask.

"A left hand, to be precise," Hawkes replies. "And that's followed by the right foot over there, and the head over that way...I'm pretty sure the rest of this guy is probably digesting at the moment."

"You should take a look at that head," Mac offers. I glance sideways at him to see if he's serious. Damn. He is. I take two steps toward a pile of dead branches and take a gander. Then I look over at Mac. "White male, early thirties…brown hair…scar on one cheek."

It's Dean Truby's head. The guy who tried to rob Lindsay's grandfather was tiger brunch this morning.

"That's not even the best part," Mac says. "Doc, tell him what you told me."

Dr. Hawkes stands up, brushing the cat fur off his pants. "I wouldn't say it's the 'best' part," he begins, "but definitely the most _disturbing_." He gestures at the area behind Khan the tiger. "There's a ton of blood over there. Most of the body parts haven't yet started to stiffen, so your time of death isn't very long ago. And the blood is bright red, meaning oxygenated. Meaning a beating heart."

"I'm sorry," I cut in, holding up a hand. "Doc, are you tellin' me Truby was _alive_ while Khan was having him for breakfast?"

"Blessedly unconscious," Hawkes confirms, "but yes."

I look at Mac. "What kind of a sick sonofabitch does somethin' like that? I ain't never heard of anybody in this town doin' anything like that."

"And you put away the last bastard that came close to being that sick of a sonofabitch," Mac tells me.

Sonny Sassone is still in prison, by the way. Rotting away for the rest of his life. I offered to put a bullet in his head, save New York taxpayers some money, but the judge wasn't in a giving mood that day. "Well," I say, "guess you can tell Mr. Monroe the cat ate the gangster."

I turn to go. "Where are you goin'?" Mac asks.

"Back to bed, Taylor. This is the easiest crime I've had to solve in a while."

He raises an eyebrow. "_You_ had to solve?"

I don't answer as I start making my way back to the entrance.

* * *

><p>"Hey!"<p>

It's the beautiful vet's assistant. She's coming at me from a storage supply shed near some kind of animal that's very loud and screechy. It kinda reminds me of my Aunt Rosalie. "Nice to see you again," I offer, standing in the snow.

"I'm sure," she shoots back. "You wanna do me a favor?"

I cock an eyebrow. "Really, lady? With that kind of attitude? No way. Not unless you ask me _very_ nicely."

She plasters a sugar sweet smile on her face. "Tell the guy that killed the one in the tiger pen that if I ever get my hands on him I'll tear him to pieces?"

I offer her a winning smile back and reply, "Sure thing."

She nods, unfazed by the smile. "Good. That tiger didn't do nothin' to nobody and now we're gonna have to put him down." She shakes her head. "Didn't see nothin' like this in Jersey," she mutters.

"Fresh outta tigers in Jersey?" I ask. "Or mobsters?"

"You've got real crass Mr…." She glares at me. "What'd you say your name was?"

I shrug. "I didn't." I brush by her and leave her standing on the pathway as I head out of the zoo.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

When I get back to the office I've got four cartons of Chinese in my arms, a bottle of wine (don't ask, I never reveal my sources) and an offer of a date with Chien Lo's oldest daughter Mei. I can hear laughing from inside my office, so I know Danny and Lindsay are here with Stella. "Where were you this mornin' Flack?" Lindsay calls to me as I shake my shoes off. Stella might be right about the floor. I step over the wet part.

"Central Park Zoo. Somebody said they thought they saw a washed up mobster in the ape pen," I say with a straight face, looking at Danny.

Danny doesn't miss a beat. "Thought Sassone was still in prison?"

I laugh, though inwardly I cringe. I'd almost forgotten my nightmare until Danny brought up Sassone's name. Damned gangster is gettin' to me even from behind bars. "Well Lindsay, we've wrapped up your grandfather's case," I tell her.

She takes one of the cartons from me and pops it open. "Really? You're kidding. You found the man already?" She looks over at Danny and there's no mistaking the relief and the happiness on her face. Her grandfather might be too hoity-toity for my taste but he's all the family she has.

I open up my shrimp lo mein and casually start poking it with my chopsticks. "We found his hand….and his foot…."

Stella looks at me questioningly. "Guy was ripped to pieces at the Central Park Zoo last night by an exceptionally large pussycat named Khan," I elaborate.

Danny whistles, and Stella turns a faint shade of green. "So we got the guy, now I just gotta figure out who got him," I finish.

"That's horrible," Lindsay says quietly.

"Serves him right," Danny argues.

I decide to leave out the part where he was alive while the cat made kibble out of him. "Anyway, that's good, 'cause now I can get back to the Bedford case," I say. My shrimp's a little on the cold side. I think I'll leave the rest of them alone.

"The Bedford case?" Lindsay looks at me curiously.

"Andrew Bedford was killed in a fire in his home two nights ago," Stella fills her in.

"Bedford as in….the Macy's Bedford?"

"General manager, chief bigwig, that's the one," I agree.

"I know his son, Drew." She sets her food down. "How is Colleen?"

"Shaken," I say, "but holding up well, considerin'."

Lindsay looks over at Danny. "We should go see her," she says. "The Bedfords were close with my parents. When I was younger we used to go to the store and I used to play in the clothing racks. Made Father furious."

I chuckle a bit at the thought of a pint-sized Lindsay playing hide and seek in a rack of fake fur. "I wonder if Jo Danville still works there."

"Who's that?" Danny asks.

"Jo used to work the perfume counter, though I imagine by now she's probably worked her way up in the ranks."

A thought hits me. "Lindsay, are you busy this afternoon?"

She shakes her head. "Not particularly. Why?"

"I'd like you to introduce me to this Danville woman. Maybe she knows what Bedford was working on before he died. It might have something to do with who killed him."

Lindsay looks at Danny, and he nods his approval. "Sure, Flack," she says.

"Hey Flack," Danny asks, tapping the wine bottle. "Where'd you score the illegal booze?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," I reply mysteriously.

* * *

><p>"The parade was Mr. Bedford's project," Jo Danville explains to us as we walk around the massive warehouse. All around me, people are busy. Some are polishing the rims of tires and fenders on several beautiful looking automobiles. Others are putting the final touches on a massive banner, on which are the letters HAPPY THANKSG-<p>

Joanna "Please, call me Jo" Danville is a very businesslike woman in her forties, with her dark hair pulled back in a bun and a pencil stuck in it. She looks sorta like the teacher I'd wished I had in school when I was a kid instead of the nuns at St. Cecilia's. She's wearing a green blouse and gray pencil skirt with green heels. She greeted Lindsay like she was still ten years old, gushing about how beautiful she was and how she looks just like her mother. Then she got introduced to me, and I think it was a letdown. The rumors that PI's lead lives of danger and glamour are vastly overstated.

"What exactly is the purpose of this parade?" Lindsay asks as she and Danny and I walk around the warehouse looking at all the activity.

"The managerial staff thought it would be a wonderful way to generate publicity and goodwill with the community," Jo explains. "Since Thanksgiving is the unofficial start of the holiday season, we plan to kick it off with a huge sale in the store and catalogs, as well as a new line of clothing, and of course, Santa will be making an appearance at the parade."

"Perpetuating the lie that there's a fat guy with a beard that comes down chimneys delivering gifts?" I ask. "That's called breaking and entering."

Jo rolls her eyes. "Unlike you, Mr. Flack, some people haven't lost their childlike innocence."

Danny punches me in the shoulder and I ignore him. "What else will be in the parade?" Lindsay asks, fascinated by the whole thing. Guess she's still innocent.

"We're bringing over some animals from the Central Park Zoo," Jo replies. "A couple of the tigers will be the big attraction. And there will be a marching band from Boston coming down. It promises to be a huge spectacle."

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot two figures doing their best to _not_ cause a spectacle. They're trying to be especially sneaky, but they're not fooling me. Drew Bedford Jr. and another a guy I don't recognize are standing near a black sedan. Drew taps the trunk and argues with the other guy. The other guy takes it, but then he argues back with a wild look in his eyes. He almost looks like he's on something.

"Flack," Danny hisses at me. "Do you know who that is?" The tone of his voice is urgent.

"The one is the junior Bedford," I whisper back, as the two women move on, Lindsay noticing that Danny and I need a word in private and hustling Jo Danville on in the other direction. "Don't know the other guy."

"He's a piece of work that used to be an enforcer for Sassone," Danny says. "That is, 'til he got too unpredictable even for Sassone and Sassone booted his ass from the organization."

"He got a name?"

"Yeah," Danny tells me. "That's Shane Casey."

* * *

><p><strong><span>Author's Note<span>: Oh snap! LOL. I suppose real quick that I should mention I don't own anything having to do with the Macy's Parade. I just love watching it on TV. Started when I was a kid, to this day I don't like to miss the parade if I can help it. Plus, a big THANK YOU to everybody reading, reviewing, lurking, alerting, etc.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer****: I don't own the characters of CSI:NY. They belong to Anthony E. Zuiker and CBS. I'm just borrowing them.  
><strong>**Disclaimer 2****: I don't promise to put them back in one piece.  
>Author's Note: A real quick THANKS to my reviewers: lilymoonlight, Crowded Angels, MSFanGirl, afrozenheart412, Mahala, and Cactusgirlie. Thank you. Again. So much. <strong>

**Chapter Seven**

"Shane Casey?" Mac repeats the name.

I'm standing in his office at the 12th, which, since he got promoted, doesn't really look all that different than when he was just a senior detective. The map is still on the wall, with red and black tacks standing in for dead bodies and illegal speakeasies. There's a lot less on the wall now that Sassone's in prison. His office is a lot warmer than my office, though.

"Danny said he was some kind of enforcer for Sassone."

"Yeah, I know the name. We tried to bring him in a while back on a drug trafficking charge but nothin' stuck," he tells me. "What was he doin' with Drew Bedford?"

I shrug. "Dunno, Mac, but I'm guessin' nothin' good." I'd like to get back into that warehouse and take a look around, but not during the day. I wonder what it would take to get Mac to put a tail out on Casey.

From somewhere back in the bullpen I hear, "Miss, you can't-" and then Mac's door bursts open and the lovely vet assistant from the Central Park Zoo comes flying into the room. Her beautiful eyes are fightin' mad, and her cheeks are rosy, from either the cold or the fact that she's _mad_ as a hell.

"Good afternoon, Miss Angell," Mac says dryly. "How can I help you?"

"Dr. Hawkes asked if I would bring this by for you," she says. "It's the jacket of the man Khan ate." She tosses a paper bag at Mac. She glances over at me….no, she _glares_ over at me.

"Hey beautiful," I try, and she snorts and looks away.

Mac pulls the jacket out of the bag. "Flack…you smell that?"

I've been a smoker all my life, so I can definitely smell it. "Smoke," I say. "Mac….what if Dean Truby set the fire that killed Andrew Bedford?"

"And then tried to rob Sterling Monroe on his way back from the job?" Mac speculates. "It's possible."

"Well," Angell says. "I'm glad I could help. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go cremate a tiger. We put Khan down this morning."

"Ma'am," Mac says, "I'm sorry about the tiger-"

"Not half as sorry as I am," she spits out, turning on her heel.

Mac raises an eyebrow. "Women," he mutters, and I laugh. "I'll go talk to her," I offer, and practically run out of his office. Outside, I catch her arm just as she's trying to hail a cab. She whirls around, and I can see tears in her eyes. "Miss Angell," I say, "we really are sorry about the tiger."

"It's just not fair," she tells me, and her whole body relaxes in my arms. "Khan was only doing what tigers are supposed to do. It isn't fair that he has to die because of it."

Instantly, I'm back on that dock two years ago, and Adam Ross is grinning at me. Ross, who Mac told me had wanted to be a cop his whole life. Ross, who died doing what he thought was right, what an officer was supposed to do. "Life isn't fair sometimes," I reply, and I know it isn't a good answer.

"It's not," she agrees. She sniffs. "I'm sorry about my behavior."

"You must love animals, huh?"

She nods, brushing tears from the corner of her eyes with one hand. "I grew up in New Jersey, as you deduced, but I grew up on a farm in western New Jersey. Daddy raised horses and cows, and I spent my whole life learning how to take care of them. I went to veterinary school but no one really took me seriously." She smiles fondly at a memory, and continues. "I was here in New York City, at the Zoo one day this summer, and I noticed that one of the horses was favoring his hoof." Angell laughs, and I realize it's the first time I've ever heard her laugh or seen her smile, and I like it. A lot.

"Lemme guess, you just jumped right in the pen?"

"I did," she says. "Next thing I know, Dr. Hawkes is yelling at me to get out of there or he'll call security, and I told him that he could go ahead and call them but first I was going to pull the splinter from his hoof." She smiles again. "He hired me to be his assistant right then and there."

"Sounds like it was a match made in heaven," I tell her, and she beams.

"I suppose it was." She bites her bottom lip, and it is the cutest thing I've ever seen. If Stella could see me now, fallin' all over this girl. "Mr….Flack, was it?"

"Just Flack," I reply.

"Flack," she corrects herself. "I hope that you and Chief Taylor find the man that is responsible for this mess."

"We're on their trail," I reply.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a gray sedan slowly crawling down the busy street. I can't see who is behind the wheel but-

Gunfire erupts on my right, shattering a couple of potted plants, and putting holes in the early evening edition of the newspaper. Angell screams and I yank her into an alleyway between the precinct and the building next door. Bullets slam into the concrete where our feet just were. The car takes off down the street, faster now. I grab Angell in my arms. "Miss Angell?" I demand. "Are you okay? Are you hit?"

She shakes her head, dazed. "N-no," she stammers, a hand rising to her mouth. "I-oh God, were they shooting at _you_?" Her hands brush over my jacket and face. "Did they hit _you_?"

"No," I tell her grabbing her hands and holding them in mine. They're shaking. "I'm fine. They missed."

We hold hands for a moment or two. Neither one of us seems to want to let go much.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Hello to Brii Taylor, and thanks for the reviews afrozenheart412, Mahala, MSFanGirl, lily moonlight and jessicaflack, and Crowded Angels. Here's a superlong chapter for you all in thanks!  
><strong>

**Chapter Eight**

Miss Angell, or Jessica, as I discover a few moments later, is still shaking as I open the door to my office. Stella is sitting at her desk, carefully copying notes, when she sees us. She stands up so fast she almost knocks her chair over. "What happened?" she demands as I close the door behind us, double checking the hall before I do so.

"Couple guys took some shots at us," I explain, helping Jessica to a chair as Stella grabs a cup of water. "We're both all right, they couldn't hit the broad side of a barn."

"They managed to hit everything else, though," Jessica whispers from the chair. Her face is white, and Stella lays a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"They were just tryin' to scare us off," I say, and I explain everything I know to Stella. "They were usin' one of them new Tommy guns," I add. "They're brand new and the ammo doesn't come cheap."

"Which means whoever it was has some serious cash behind them," Stella says, and I nod. "You think it's Bedford?"

"Everything seems to be pointin' that way." I lean against her desk with a cup of coffee in my hand. "I want to go back to the Macy's warehouse before the parade. Bedford and Casey were both there, and they looked like they were tryin' to find something. I wanna know what it was. Maybe I can find some kind of motive for Andrew Bedford's murder."

"You think it was murder?"

"Call it a gut instinct," I reply. As I say it, the telephone rings. Stella picks it up. "Don Flack, PI….hello yourself…."

Has to be Mac Taylor.

"….sure, he's here. One moment." She sets down the earpiece and looks at me. "That's Mac," she says. "They got the autopsy results on Andrew Bedford."

"Stel, maybe you oughta take her in my office while I take this," I suggest. Stella helps an ashen Jessica Angell stand and walks her into my office. She pokes her head out the door, "You _really_ need to get the radiator fixed," she grumbles, before closing the door, leaving me alone in the outer office.

* * *

><p>I pick up the phone. "Yeah Mac, it's Flack."<p>

"Andrew Bedford's autopsy results came back. He died from smoke inhalation."

"So he was alive when the fire started." I think for a moment. "Colleen Bedford went out for her meeting around six. The doorman says she asked to be let back in about eight. That gives us a two hour window for Dean Truby or someone to have gone in, set the fire, and left again."

"Sid Hammerback says it was about seven-fifteen when they left the Italian restaurant, and they were attacked shortly after." Mac is silent while he does the math in his head. "Truby could have set the fire and then robbed Mr. Monroe."

"Where was Junior?" I ask.

"He claims he was at the Macy's warehouse looking over some things for the parade preparations. A Miss Danville confirms it."

"So he couldn't have set the fire….doesn't mean he didn't tell Truby to do it. Okay, thanks Mac. Hey, are you having any luck trying to find the bastards that tried to air out my jacket today?"

"No luck yet. There's a million of those cars in this city, and no one caught a license plate."

"Course they didn't," I mutter. "Eight million eyes in this city, nobody ever sees anything."

"I'll keep ya in the loop," Mac tells me.

"Thanks, Mac," I reply, and hang up.

* * *

><p>Inside the office, color is returning to Jessica Angell's face. I relay what Mac has told me about Andrew Bedford's death.<p>

"Even if he'd been sleeping," Stella says, "wouldn't he have _felt_ the fact that he was on fire? Why would he just sit down in his chair and take it?"

"Maybe he's a heavy sleeper," I suggest. "Hell, I don't know."

"Maybe he was sedated," Jessica offers quietly. Her knuckles are whit,e wrapped around her cup of water. "Someone could have put something in food or drink before he died."

I think about it. "There were no cups or plates in the office." I think about the cigarette. "And I don't think anything was in the cigarette."

"It could have been injected," she postulates. "We knock out the smaller animals at the zoo that way. And if he was burned badly, it would cover the needle markings."

"That makes sense," I say. "Stel, you stay here with Jessica. I need to go run by the zoo again and talk to Dr. Hawkes."

"Try his office in the main building," Jessica says. "He's usually there late."

* * *

><p>I always knew this Hawkes fella was someone I liked, but I like him even more now that I know he's a workaholic like me. True to Jessica's prediction, Dr. Hawkes is working in his office when I get there as the sun is going down. I tap lightly on the open door, and he looks up from a stack of paperwork. "Mr. Flack," he greets me with a smile. "How can I help you?"<p>

"Call me Flack," I say. "Got a few questions for you."

His eyes turn wary. "What do you mean?" he asks, suspicion in his voice.

I chuckle. "Nothing like that, Doc. You're just the only doctor I've met that I actually like."

Hawkes relaxes. "Fair enough, then. Ask away."

I sit down in the chair on the other side of his desk. He leans back and props his feet up on his desk. Yep, knew I liked him. "I have a case that I could use some medical expertise on," I begin. I outline the Bedford case, not naming any names. As I get deeper into it, though, I catch a smile tugging at Hawkes's mouth. "All right Doc, what?" I ask him. "You're smilin' like the cat that ate the canary."

"You're talkin' about the Bedford thing," Hawkes guesses. "It's been in the papers. Rich guy dies, people talk."

"So….you've read the papers then. Got any theories for me?"

At this point, Hawkes takes his feet off his desk. His whole body language changes. He's gone from relaxed to slightly tense, and I pick up on it instantly. "What, Doc?"

"Flack, do you know what ketamine is?"

"Unless it's a form of alcohol, no."

"It's a sedative. A pretty strong one. We use it to sedate the larger animals here at the zoo during surgical procedures."

"Did you use it on the tiger?"

"No. Khan was out when we found him in the morning."

I raise an eyebrow. "Eating Dean Truby killed him?"

"Bengal tigers eat other big cats, Flack. A human being was just a snack-sized appetizer for that cat."

I process that. And….I get nothing. "Okay, help me out here, Doc."

"Khan was unconscious when we found him. By then he'd already eaten most of this Truby person. I'm saying there was enough ketamine in Dean Truby that when Khan ate him-"

"-it knocked your kitty out," I finish. I whistle. "Wow." I wonder aloud, "I wonder if he hadn't been burnt to a crisp if we'd have found ketamine in Andrew Bedford."

That's when he gets _real_ quiet. "Doc, you're actin' kinda twitchy over there," I say. "You know somethin'?"

He sighs. "I ordered a case of ketamine a couple weeks ago. When the delivery got here, there was a bottle missing. I just chalked it up to handling, and assumed it broke or was never packaged to begin with."

"So there's a bottle of stuff floatin' around out there that's strong enough to knock out a horse?" I ask. "Wouldn't take much to knock out a human, huh?"

Hawkes shakes his head. "Definitely not."

I stand. "Doc, you've been a huge help. One more thing-can you tell me where you got the order of ketamine from?"

Hawkes writes down the address. "I'm sorry, Flack. I didn't think it was important."

"You couldn't have known, Doc. It's all right." I take the slip of paper from him. "Thanks."

* * *

><p>As I drive back to the office, I run through the facts in my mind. Andrew Bedford is drugged with ketamine, and Dean Truby sets the fire in his office to make it look like a stray cigarette caused the fire. Then he takes off from the scene, and along the way, tries to rob Sterling Monroe and Sid Hammerback. Then, someone decides Truby's a loose end and they drug him and then toss him in the tiger cage.<p>

My mind drifts back to that day at the Bedford's penthouse. Junior sure seemed like he was in a hurry to get me out of there. So either he was afraid I was gonna muck up their carpet with my shoes….or he didn't want me askin' questions.

I change directions and head back uptown. I'm hopin' Colleen Bedford is home and Junior is not.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE**

The beautiful widow of Andrew Bedford answers the door when I knock. "Good evening, Mrs. Bedford," I greet her. "Is your son at home?"

Colleen's eyes knit together in confusion. "No. He's not here, Detective. Can I help you with something?"

_Now that I know he ain't here, plenty_. "You mind if I come in and ask a few questions? Your son kinda hurried me out of here the other day."

She steps back and lets me in. I remove my hat. "Thanks. Mrs. Bedford….do you know what your husband was working on in his office the night he died?"

She leads me into the kitchen and sits me down at the table with a cup of coffee. It's not as good as Stella's. "I don't know for certain," she says, "but I imagine it had something to do with the parade tomorrow morning."

"This parade is a big deal, huh?"

She smiles. "Andrew wanted to say thank you to the city for their patronage, and for their support. The parade is a wonderful way to give back."

"It is." I have to shift topics now, and I know she won't be smilin' anymore. "Mrs. Bedford…where was your son the night your husband died?"

The dark cloud rolls in, and the smile edges off her face. "I-I don't know," she says. "I expect he was out with friends."

"How was the relationship between your son and your husband?" I ask her.

She doesn't say anything. "Drew did not kill his father," she says finally, but I can hear it in her voice. She doesn't believe it anymore than I do.

"Try again," I suggest.

"They were in an argument the night he died. Before I left the house, I could hear them yelling at each other in the study."

"And you didn't think this was important enough to share with the cops?"

"I didn't think it mattered," she explains. "They argued, and Drew stormed out of the apartment. My husband was alive when he left, and when I left the house, I-I don't understand-"

"Do you know what they were arguing about?" I cut her off. I don't like bein' an ass, especially to a woman, but I'm not gettin' anywhere with a kind word right now, so it's time to bring in the gun.

"No, I don't," she says. "But Drew didn't kill my husband, detective."

I stand. "I know he didn't, Mrs. Bedford," I say, putting my hat on. "But I think it was his idea." I leave her crying in the kitchen as I take the elevator back downstairs. Once downstairs, I borrow a phone and call Danny at his and Lindsay's hotel. "Hey, it's Flack," I say. "Wanna do some breakin' and enterin' with me, for old times' sake?"

"Just don't tell my wife," he chuckles. "Where am I meetin' you?"

"The warehouse where the Macy's parade prep is happening."

He laughs. "I can save us the trouble of havin' to break in, fun as that would be. Let me have my wife call Jo Danville."

"Meet you there."

* * *

><p>The warehouse is completely dark, and all activity has ceased by the time Danny and I get there with Jo Danville. "Seems like it would be really busy right now, seein' how the parade is in less than 12 hours," Danny says as Jo unlocks a side door.<p>

"The real prep won't happen for at least another six hours," Jo explains as she slides the door open. "I told everyone to go home and get some rest before things get down to the wire."

"Ma'am, what's your opinion of Drew Bedford?" I ask as we step inside the dark warehouse.

She rests her hand on one of the large switches for the lights before answering. "I don't particularly care for him," she admits to me. "He's very arrogant, and he's very rude to my employees. Just because he's the boss's son doesn't give him the right to act like he runs the show."

"Sure doesn't," I mumble as she flips on a row of lights. White light blazes in the room. I hear a loud crack and something pings off the handle, where Jo's fingers were. "Someone's shootin'!" Danny announces unnecessarily as he grabs Jo and throws her down behind a stack of crates. I dive behind it too, joining them and pulling my gun from my shoulder holster. "You see him?" I ask Danny. Danny pokes his head out from the crate, then ducks it again as a shot nails the box at his eyeline. He yelps in surprise. He points. "Yeah, he's up there somewhere."

"Thanks for finding him."

"Shut up."

I turn to Jo. "Where are the ladders for those catwalks up there?"

"There's one on the far wall, over there," Jo says. "If I can get to the light switch and turn it off, you could get up the ladder and get up there before he sees you," she suggests.

Danny and I exchange glances. "Flip you for it?" he suggests.

"Odds or evens?"

"Evens!"

"Really, boys?" Jo groans between us. I hold up four fingers, and Danny holds up three. "Damn," Danny mutters. He gets to his feet.

"All right Miss Danville," I say, pulling the hammer back on my revolver. "I'll cover you. On the count of three…"

"Oh sure, you'll cover _her_," Danny grumbles.

"You'll have the lights off, quit yer whinin'," I shoot back. "One…two…." I lean out and pop off a shot that goes somewhere near the ceiling. "_Three_." Jo ducks out, her hand goes for the light switch, and she slams it down. The place plunges into darkness. I hear Danny take off at a sprint for the side wall. "Count to ten, then flip it back on," I whisper to Jo. I lean out again and throw up another shot. But I'm not tryin' to hit anything.

A split second later, I see a muzzle flash, feel something go whizzing by my head,and I hope Danny saw it too. _You're leadin' him right to you, ya bastard._ I'm counting the seconds in my head…eight, nine _ten_.

Jo flips the lights back on. I continue to draw fire, popping off another shot up where I saw the muzzle flash. I can see Danny out of the corner of my eye making his way around on the catwalk, around to where the shooter is. Pretty soon I hear yelling, hear metal on metal, the sound of fist hitting fist, and someone goes flying off the catwalk and into a pallet of cotton, or polyester, or would know exactly what it is, but I don't have a clue. I leap out from behind the crates, yell at Jo to stay down, and run over and haul the bruised and battered self of Shane Casey out of the fabric. Up above me, I see Danny looking down at me. "Nice aim!" I yell up to him.

"Thanks. Be down in a sec."

* * *

><p>I haul Shane Casey up. He's half out of it. "Hey Jo? Do me a favor, go call Mac Taylor at the 12th." I give Casey a shake. "Hey, scumbag, stay with me. You ain't allowed to check out yet, not til I've got a few answers."<p>

Danny jogs across the floor and joins us. "Hiya Casey," he greets the former enforcer. "You look like hell."

"I ain't tellin' you anything," Casey growls at me.

"Hey, you _are_ awake," I reply. "Come on now, I only have two questions, and they're easy ones." I throw him on his back on top of the fabric and stick my gun in his ear. "Or I can do this how ol' Al Capone thought it should be done."

"Funny, that's how Sassone thought it went too," Danny notes with a grim smile.

"Taylor and his boys'll be here any minute, buddy," I inform Casey, getting right in his face. "And I'm on good terms with the DA, so we can maybe talk a deal."

"Or we could just shoot him," Danny offers.

"Or that," I agree. "I know you know Drew Bedford," I tell him. "I wanna know what the two of you were lookin' for in this warehouse the other day."

Casey keeps his mouth shut. I pull the hammer back on my gun. "You know what I think? I think they'll take you in, and I'll get a call from my secretary tellin' me that you work at the chemical place where the Central Park Zoo gets their stuff. I bet you nicked a bottle of ketamine from their shipment, and I bet you gave it to Dean Truby. And I bet you got paid real good to do it too."

"Yo Flack," Danny says from the other side of the pallet. "Look at this!"

I keep my gun trained on Casey as I glance up to see Danny holding a clear bottle aloft. He gives it a shake. "Wanna bet that's ketamine?" He glances at the tag on the bottle. "Dr. Sheldon Hawkes, DVM," he reads. "Hawkes, ain't that the guy that works at the zoo?"

"Sure is," I confirm. "You see Casey? I really don't need you. I could just pop you right now, and Chief Taylor would look the other way. But I don't think you masterminded the deaths of Dean Truby and Andrew Bedford, I think it was Bedford Junior. You really wanna go away for two murders?"

"I didn't kill nobody!" Shane Casey howls.

I grin. "But you know who did, don't you?"

"He'll kill me if he finds out!"

"Buddy, I'll kill you right now if you don't tell _me_!" I jab the gun farther into his ear, and he yelps in pain.

"Yeah! Yeah it was Bedford! He wanted me to get the stuff! I gave it to him! What he did with it afterwards I got no idea!" he cries out. "B-but I know he called Truby stupid for tryin' to rob those two guys on the street, and he killed him! I was there, I saw him do it!"

"Why?" I demand. "Why did he kill his father?"

"No! I ain't sayin' anything else!" And with that, Casey clamps his mouth shut, just as Taylor and his boys burst in.

"Damn it!" I yell, frustrated. Still can't close the books on this one…not yet.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer****: I don't own the characters of CSI:NY. I'm just borrowing them.  
><strong>**Disclaimer 2****: I don't promise to put them back in one piece.**

**Chapter 10**

Thursday morning dawns gray. I stand outside shivering as Mac Taylor and his boys haul Shane Casey away. He's clammed up good, hasn't said a word since he said he wasn't sayin' another word. Danny is outside with me. "So whaddya think, Flack?" he asks me. "Think Bedford's in the wind? That we got on to him and he's gonna run?"

"I don't know," I shrug helplessly. It's _not_ a feelin' I like. "I don't know why he killed his father. I know he killed Dean Truby. But I can't prove he killed his father."

"What are you gonna do?"

I shake my head. "I don't know man. I just don't know." It's five a.m. and all I really want to do is go home and go to bed. But I know that nightmares are waiting if I do that, and I don't want that either.

I see a truck with a caged box come rolling up. Dr. Sheldon Hawkes pops out of the driver's seat. Inside the truck, I hear a loud roar. "Looks like someone's up early," I note as Hawkes comes over to us.

"Sheba doesn't do mornings," Hawkes explains. "But she's one of the main attractions in the parade todya, and her adoring fans are waiting." He looks at Danny and I, and the doctor takes over. "You guys look like death warmed over. You okay?"

"Peachy," I grind out. Then I think of something. "Where's your lovely assistant this morning?"

"Oh, I expect she'll be along shortly," he says with a wink. "I'll see you boys later." He leaves us to go talk to the two men who have ridden in on the giant Belgian horses from the zoo.

"You know, Danny, I don't really feel much like celebratin' right now," I tell him as I watch Jo Danville start lining up her parade.

"Me either," he says. "How 'bout a beer back at your office?"

"Best idea I've heard all morning."

He grins. "It's early yet."

* * *

><p>Danny offers to drive back to the office. I'm deep in thought in the passenger seat. This doesn't feel finished to me. Drew Bedford is a cocky little bastard, and he isn't just going to turn tail and run. But I can't figure out where he's goin' with this whole thing.<p>

"So Lindsay tells me her grandpa wants to sit down with me and 'talk'," Danny is saying, and I shake my head to clear my head so I can pay attention to him. "Guess he thinks he's well enough to be let out of the hospital later today."

"Maybe he's gonna snuff ya," I suggest, and Danny sighs. "Yeah, or that."

"The old man's stubborn. I found out from Lindsay that if he ever kicks the bucket, she gets everythin'. So he's never gonna die. 'Cause if Lindsay gets everything, that means some of it is mine." He chuckles. "Hell, that's a lot of money. Then I _would_ have a million bucks, and Lindsay would have two mil and a penthouse and a newspaper empire and-"

_Flack, you're so stupid!_ "Stop the car!" I bark at Danny. I musta scared him, because he slams on the brakes, nearly sending the both of us through the windshield. "God damn, it's been starin' at me the whole damn time."

"What?" Danny asks, confused.

I smack my forehead, annoyed at how stupid I've been. "I kept lookin' in the wrong places. I didn't look at what was right in front of me!" I hit the dash with an open hand. "Sonofabitch!"

"Care to share with the rest of the class?" Danny asks me, thoroughly lost.

I look at him. "Danny. You just solved this case!"

"I did?" He grins. "Does this mean I get your office?"

"Shut up, Danny. Turn the car around. We have to go talk to Sid Hammerback."

"Why?"

"Think about it, Messer. Drew Bedford kills his father to make it look like an accident. If Andrew Bedford keels over, I bet money that Junior gets everything."

* * *

><p>Danny flips the car around and we head back downtown to Hammerback's office. Danny barely has the car in park before I scramble out the door. I almost hit an old lady with a poodle on my way into the building. I hear the dog yelp, and she starts givin' Danny an earful. I ignore the "You can't go in there!" order from Hammerback's secretary, Peyton Driscoll, and burst into his office.<p>

He's at his desk, and jumps six feet in the air. "What is the meaning of-Flack?" he asks, peering over his glasses. "What's going on?"

"Did your office handle the Bedford will?" I ask him.

Realization dawns. "I think Langston was Andrew's lawyer. Let me go see if I can pull a copy."

I impatiently pace, waiting for him to get back. When he returns, I have to fight my urge to yank the file from his hand. He sits down and start meticulously flipping through the contents of Andrew Bedford's last will and testament.

"Just tell me the fine print, Sid," I say. "If Bedford kicked the bucket accidentally, did Junior get everything?"

"The conditions stipulate that in the case of accidental death, the estate actually reverts to-" He looks at me. "Colleen Bedford."

"And if Colleen died?"

Sid checks the file, but I already know the answer before he says it, "Drew Bedford gets everything, doesn't he?" I ask, and the DA nods. "Thanks Sid!" I say, before running from his office, past a furious Peyton Driscoll, back down the stairs to where Danny is waiting in the lobby. I relay what I've learned, and Danny nods. "I always knew it was that little rat fink."

"We have to find Mrs. Bedford," I tell him. "She's next."


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of "CSI:NY"-they belong to Anthony E. Zuiker and CBS.  
><strong>

**Chapter 11**

It takes us a while to get back uptown, because they've started roping off the parade route. Fortunately, Danny knows some shortcuts. He throws the car in park as I run up to Titus and pin him against the door. "Is Mrs. Bedford home?" I demand.

"Young man-"

"Don't 'young man' me, old man," I growl. "I need to know where she is. _Now_." My tone leaves no room for argument.

"S-She and Master Bedford left about a half hour ago. They're riding in the parade this morning."

"Danny!"

"Yeah I heard," he yells back. "Get in!"

Danny peels out in a haze of smoke and rubber as we hightail it back to the warehouse. Danny can't get any closer than a block and a half away. "Go get him!" Danny tells me. "I'll meet you there!" I fly out of the car and sprint back toward the warehouse. I _really_ need to quit smoking.

* * *

><p>I run past an alleyway, but something catches my eye and I have to go back. I jog backwards a couple of steps and see a gray sedan parked in the alley. Looks suspiciously like the one that tried to take out Jessica and I. <em>He's here<em>. I make it to the warehouse. The line is moving, and things are filing out of the warehouse. I catch Dr. Hawkes, giving last minute instructions to the guy holding the reins on a very _large_ horse. "Doc! You seen Mrs. Bedford or her son?" I ask him.

He pauses to think. I don't have this sort of time. "I don't know where the son is," he says finally, "and Mrs. Bedford is in one of the cars near the front of the parade. She asked Jessica if she'd like to ride up front with her."

"How far at the front?"

He looks at his watch. "They've been gone probably ten minutes."

Enough time for them to have gotten far enough away. Suddenly I remember the day in the warehouse. Drew and Casey were standing next to one of the cars. _I wonder_… "Doc, I need you to find Mac Taylor for me. He's somewhere on the route. We need to find Drew Bedford and we need to find him now."

"What?"

"Just go!" I run outside and almost run smack into Danny. "Danny, I think Drew Bedford's gonna blow up the car his mother is riding in-" _Oh no._ "And Jessica."

"That won't look too accidental," Danny says.

"Cars have fuel line leaks and brake problems all the time, Messer. We need to get up the parade route, and we need to get up there in a hurry."

He looks around, then throws his hands in the air. "Flack, everythin' around here is movin' at a snails' pace."

I glance back to Dr. Hawkes. The two massive Belgians are right behind us. I groan. "Oh God, I have an idea."

* * *

><p>"This is <em>not<em> a good idea!" Danny yells as we weave in and out of traffic on the backs of the two massive Belgians. Fortunately, the crowd's eatin' it up, they think we're part of the attraction. Two of the clowns.

Up ahead, I can see the car. "Okay Danny, you stop that car. I gotta find Bedford!"

"Yeah, no problem," Danny mutters, and digs his shoe into the side of the big horse. They rush past me, and I slow my big guy down as I scan the crowd for Bedford. A couple of little kids with balloons are whispering excitedly and pointing up at me as we clop by them.

I hear the report off to my left, and something sparks on the tuba of the man next to me in the marching band. The crowd screams as they recognize gunshots, and I turn in the direction of the shot. Bedford is running, heading for the front of the parade, for the car…and for Jessica. I jump off the horse, landing hard, and take off after him.

Up ahead, I can see Danny riding next to the car, trying to get them to turn at the next corner. Anything to keep them out of the range of the trigger that Bedford has in his hand. "Get 'em outta there, Messer!" I yell. I'm surprised he can hear me as the people all scatter, screaming and crying and panicking around me, but he does, because I can see him yelling at the driver.

I can see Bedford ahead of me. He reaches back and fires at me. The shot slams into a doorway near the Dakota building. I roll, and come up running.

I run forward and dive, arms outstretched. I catch Bedford's jacket and yank him down to the sidewalk. He throws an elbow back and nails me in the chin. I let go, dazed. I see stars…and then I see somethin' else.

Adam Ross is standing in front of me in his beat cop uniform. _"Come on, Flack," _he tells me_. "You got this guy. He's got nothin' on ya. Get him for me."_

_Okay kid..._I get a renewed surge of energy, and pick myself off the sidewalk and take off running again. Bedford tries to sneak around a corner, but I grab his leg and pull. He belly-flops to the sidewalk, and whatever he was holding for a trigger skitters into the crowd of screaming paradegoers. He tries kicking me but I roll right, keeping out of the way. I let go long enough to throw myself on top of him, but he's a slippery little bastard and throws me off, scrambling for the trigger. I don't know where his gun went and I don't care, it's one less thing I have to worry about hitting me right now. I jump up and throw myself at him again, this time shoving one knee into his back and shoving his face into the sidewalk with my palm. "Don't you move, you spoiled, slippery little asshole." He struggles, and I have no qualms about slamming his nose into the pavement again. I warned him.

I see Mac Taylor, closely followed by Danny, Jessica, and Dr. Hawkes, come running up the sidewalk. "Flack!" Jessica cries, throwing a hand to her mouth. "Are you all right?"

I glance to my right. Adam Ross is there. I watch him tug his cover over his hair, and nod to me. _Take care of yourself Flack, these are some mean streets these days._ He fades from view.

I look up at Taylor. "Peachy," I reply, and smile.

* * *

><p>Back at the office, it's Jess, Stella, Lindsay and I, Danny, Mac and the doc. Under Colleen's watchful eye, the parade has been postponed a day or two. She and Jo Danville are going to regroup and then have it again, and Dr. Hawkes is busy rounding up the two horses that Danny and I...borrowed. We're all sitting in my office, I'm nursing a split lip. Well, actually, <em>Jessica<em> is nursing it for me, and I'm milking it for all it's worth.

Danny is ecstatic because Sid Hammerback told Sterling Monroe about his part in today's little escapade, and Lindsay's grandfather is a _lot_ more willing to have Danny as a part of the family now. He and Lindsay are standing in the corner, he's got his arms wrapped around her middle.

Mac and Stella are tryin' to keep it professional, but it's just not workin'. "For cripes sake you two," I groan. "Hold hands or somethin' already. You're seein' each other, it's time to act like it."

"It's too early in the day for you to be givin' orders, Flack," Mac tells me, but I see his fingers slide into Stella's.

"How are you feeling?" Jessica asks me.

"Oh, all right, I guess," I reply. "Still stings a little."

I see Stella roll her eyes, and I see Danny smirk.

Jessica is looking at me, her big brown eyes teasing me as she leans down to kiss me. When we finally come up for air, she asks me, "Feeling better?"

I smile. Maybe there is something to celebrate after all.

**_Fin_**.

**Author's Note: Looking back at this I wish I'd have had a better ending scene. But I hope everybody likes it anyway. Constructive criticism is usually warranted and always appreciated. Thanks to all who have read, alerted, reviewed...I appreciate it all!**


End file.
